


A Happy Accident

by often_adamanta



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, Canon Disabled Character, Concussions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Meetings, Getting to Know Each Other, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sharing a Bed, Veterans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 16:03:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3575450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/often_adamanta/pseuds/often_adamanta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Running into Bucky was a complete accident, but it's still Steve's fault. And that's just the beginning of his day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Happy Accident

**Author's Note:**

  * For [earthseraph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthseraph/gifts).



> Beta'd by [riversburn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/riversburn/pseuds/riversburn) because she's awesome :)
> 
> I'm not sure this is what you had in mind, [earthseraph](http://archiveofourown.org/users/earthseraph/pseuds/riversburn), but I do hope you like it!!

Natasha’s collecting her coffee and the barista’s phone number when Steve’s cell rings. His glasses slip down his nose as he juggles his coffee and his bag, frowning when he sees Maria Hill’s name. “Hello?” he says loudly enough to be heard over the noise inside the packed coffeehouse.

“Steve, you need to get here right now,” Maria says immediately. 

Steve covers the receiver long enough to call out, “Natasha,” and then says to Maria, “Is Phil okay?” 

“Yes, but listen. The hearing starts in 10 minutes.”

“What?” Steve asks, panic clawing into the pit of his stomach. “No, it’s not for two hours.” 

“Not anymore,” Maria says tightly. 

“Jesus,” he hisses, then snaps, “Natasha!” with enough urgency that she immediately straightens up and turns to look at him. “Court,” he mouths, pointing at the phone. 

“Go,” she mouths back, waving him away. 

He spins around and heads for the doors. 

“Why would Fury do this?” Steve asks. “He appointed me in the first place.”

“He wouldn’t, but a different judge is sitting today.” There are other voices in the background that Steve can’t make out. “I have to go. Hurry.” She hangs up on him.

Steve tucks the phone away in his pocket as he reaches the door, throwing his entire body against it and shoving it open. 

The door catches when it’s halfway open, causing him to trip and end up on his knees in the doorway, coffee spilling out on the sidewalk. He looks up and around the edge of the door at an equally shocked man, standing and holding his hand over one eye. They stare at each other for a second, and then the man takes a stumbling step back and collapses down onto his ass. Steve watches it happen in horror. It feels like slow motion, but he can’t move to help the guy. 

They at eye level now, just staring at each other, dazed.

“You are a tragedy,” Natasha says from behind him and hauls him up with a hand under his arm. 

The touch jolts him back into himself. “Oh my _god_ ,” he gasps, “are you okay?” 

Natasha pushes him gently the rest of the way out of the door and kneels next to the man. A thin line of blood is starting to run out from where his hand is covering his eye. Steve feels abruptly like he’s going to throw up. 

“Handkerchief,” Natasha says, and Steve automatically digs it out of his jacket pocket for her. She takes it and starts scoops some of the ice from his drink into it. 

“Don’t you have court?” she asks. 

“Shit,” he says, stumbling to his feet. He hails a taxi from the sidewalk, but when it pulls up he can’t bring himself to get in. He digs a card out of the front pocket of his bag and tries to hand it to the man, which is when Steve realizes that the hand on his face is the man’s only hand. His other sleeve is pinned up neatly a few inches below his shoulder. 

Steve doesn’t let himself react. He sets the card on the man’s knee and says, “I don’t want to leave, but it’s an emergency. I promise I’m not running away, and I’ll come check on you as soon as I can.” 

He waits, but the man doesn’t react beyond watching him.

“Steve, go,” Natasha insists, not looking away from where she’s gently moving the guy’s long, dark hair out of his face. 

He hesitates, but then says, “Sorry,” and goes, getting into the cab and not looking back. He feels sick the entire ride, but when he rushes, carefully, into the court building and finds Phil looking small and scared between his foster parents, he knows that he made the right call. 

“Steve!” Phil says, smiling in relief when he catches sight of Steve. 

“Yeah, hey,” Steve says, catching Phil in a hug, “I’m here now.” 

Maria appears in the courtroom door and waves them all inside, favoring Steve with a rare smile. 

He takes Phil’s hand and leads him inside, whispering a quick thanks to Maria as they pass. 

*

Steve texts Natasha a few hours later when things have been straightened out. _which hospital is he at? st. joseph’s?_

_yes, why?_ Natasha texts back, but then sends a second text before he can answer, _you’re actually going to check on him, aren’t you?_

Steve hails a taxi and gets in before responding. _of course i am. i said i would, and i’m the one who hurt him_

_it was an accident, steve_ she says, but doesn’t try to talk him out of it. 

He’s halfway there when he discovers a snag in his plan and texts Natasha again. _How am I supposed to find this guy? I don’t even know his name_

_James Barnes_ , she texts, and then before he can ask, adds, _I helped check him in_

Sharon is at the emergency room desk in her usual pink scrubs when he arrives. She gives him a thorough once-over when she notices him, but must be reassured because she doesn’t immediately jump up. “Hey, neighbor,” she greets him. “Everything okay?” 

“It’s been a crazy day,” he admits, but doesn’t elaborate. “I’m looking for James Barnes.” 

“They assign you a new kid?” she asks as she types the name into computer next to her. 

“Uh, no,” he says and must sound strange enough to catch her attention because she looks back at him, eyebrows raised. “I accidentally hit him earlier.” The eyebrows go even higher. “With a door.” 

Her lips tighten to keep from smiling, and Steve glares. “He’s still here,” she says, “Come on, I’ll show you.” 

“Thanks,” he says, even though he suspects she just wants to see the evidence for herself. 

She leads him back to a bed in a relatively calm corner of the ER. “Mr. Barnes?” she calls, peeking inside the curtain before drawing it back. “You have a visitor.” 

James Barnes stands inside beside the bed, in jeans and a hospital gown that is halfway off, hanging off one shoulder and tangled with his IV line. 

Steve blinks. He must have been more shaken up than he knew, because he doesn’t remember the guy being this… well-sculpted.

Barnes smiles sheepishly at them and says, “Uh, help?” He’s so gorgeous that Steve’s breath catches. Sharon rushes over, pulling the gown back on and straightening it instead of taking it off.

Barnes looks over at him, curious, and that’s when Steve registers the huge shiner, along with several butterfly bandages where Barnes’ black eye meets his cheekbone, and then that sick feeling returns.

Sharon picks up the chart hanging off the end of the bed, reading it over with a small frown on her mouth. 

“I remember you,” Barnes says and pulls Steve’s card out of his pocket, glancing at it. “Steve Rogers, right?” 

“Yes, that’s me” Steve says agrees, “And I am so sorry. Again. I mean, still.” Steve winces inside and forces himself to stop babbling. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” Barnes says. Steve isn’t sure he believes that, but Barnes seems entirely sincere. “It looks worse than it is. I was just about to get out of here.” 

“That’s surprising,” Sharon says, “Because your chart says you’re staying overnight for observation.” 

“My doctor was being overly cautious,” Barnes replies. “It’s nothing.”

“Hmmm,” Sharon says, and walks off with the chart. 

Barnes sighs and runs his hand through his hair. 

There’s an awkward pause. Steve wraps his hands around his bag, and finally says, “Mr. Barnes, if you don’t want--” at the same second Barnes blurts out, “I’m not going to sue you.” They both look at each other. 

“I didn’t think you were,” Steve says, although it comes out alarmed, because now he’s thinking about it. “Hadn’t even considered it until just now.” 

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” Barnes asks, then jokes, “I thought lawyers were always worried about litigation.” 

Steve stares at him, confused. “I’m a graphic artist,” he says eventually. 

“But…” Barnes trails off and raises the card still in his hand. 

“Oh!” Steve says, smiling as he explains, “No, I’m a volunteer at the court. I advocate for abused kids in state custody. You know, work around all the red tape to find them permanent homes.” 

“That’s… impressive,” Barnes says and tucks Steve’s card away with a grin. “So I should be calling you Saint Rogers.” 

“Steve, actually,” he corrects drily. “If I was canonized, I’d definitely put that on the card.” Barnes smiles again, so wide that it must hurt, and Steve has to clear his throat to continue. “I feel terrible about happened, Mr. Barnes. Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Call me Bucky,” he corrects and then shrugs. “Mostly I just want to get out of here. Not a big fan of hospitals.”

“I’m sure Sharon will figure it out,” Steve says, motioning behind him where she’d disappeared. “She’s awesome. And she’s in charge of this shift.” 

“Oh,” Bucky says. “Are you two close?” 

“Kinda,” Steve says. When Bucky’s expression closes off a little, he adds, “She’s my neighbor.” 

Bucky huffs out a small laugh. “Wow, sorry. I really need to stop leaping to conclusions with you.”

“That’s okay,” Steve says, “I’ll give you a pass in light of your recent head injury.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes, wincing as he does it. “Real generous of you.” 

Sharon comes in before Steve can reply. “I checked, and you can go.” Bucky brightens, but Sharon continues, “ _If_ you have someone stay with you tonight who can monitor you for symptoms. Do you have someone at home?”

Bucky glances at Steve. “I have a roommate.” 

“Great,” Sharon says, “When they get here, I’ll explain what they need to do, and then you’re free.” 

“Uh,” Bucky says. 

“Problem?” Sharon asks sweetly.

“Does he really need to come all the way down here?” Bucky scratches the back of his neck. “I can tell him what to do.” 

“Sorry, but your doctor isn’t comfortable releasing you alone, and frankly, neither am I,” she says. “Concussions are serious things.” 

“Concussion,” Steve repeats in horror. 

“Very mild,” Sharon says to Steve, but when Bucky opens his mouth, she adds, “But enough for you to need some care.” 

“Uh,” Bucky says again, but when Sharon stands her ground, finally admits, “I do have a roommate, but he’s out of town for the weekend.” 

“Do you have any one else that can stay with you?” Sharon asks with a frown.

Bucky flushes faintly and looks down at the floor before shaking his head. 

“Well, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to stay here for the night,” Sharon tells him, apologetic but firm. 

“No,” Steve says, and they both look over at him. “It’s okay, Sharon. I’ll stay with him.” 

Bucky’s mouth drops open, but he recovers before Sharon turns back to him. “Is that alright with you, Mr. Barnes?” 

“Perfect,” Bucky says and grins when she turns back to Steve. 

“I’ll send your nurse in to remove the IV, then,” Sharon says to Bucky, and drags Steve away. 

“Jesus, Steve” she says when they’re back to the desk, paperwork in hand. “You don’t even know that guy. He could be a serial killer.” 

Steve opens his mouth and then shuts it again with a frown. 

“What?” she asks. 

“I was about to say it wasn’t likely since he only has one arm, but that’s ableist, isn’t it?” Steve considers it. “I’m sure he could be a serial killer if he tried.” 

“You know what, nevermind. I withdraw my concern,” she says, and then her demeanor changes, becoming serious and professional, to go over his instructions. Finally, she hands him a pen. “Sign here. And I hope for your sake that this isn’t all part of a glorious revenge.” 

“I suggested it,” Steve points out. 

“The worst part,” Sharon says, studying him, “is that I just gave you very specific instructions to make him rest, so I know you’re not going to be hitting that tonight.” 

He glares up at her as several of the other nurses look their way, unable to stop a blush from covering his face. He shoves the form back, ignores her annoyingly satisfied expression, and leaves with his remaining dignity. 

*

Bucky is ready and waiting when Steve finds him again, and momentum carries them through the ER doors and into a cab, but once they’re on the road, the silence turns awkward. 

“Thanks for getting me out of there,” Bucky says eventually, “But you don’t need to stay. I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Steve says, “But I think Sharon would notice if I came home 12 hours early.” 

“Oh, god,” Bucky says. “Sorry, I didn’t even think of that.” 

“It’s fine,” Steve assures him, “In fact, I’d rather stay. I’d be pretty upset if you died because I abandoned you. Although, if you don’t want me around, I’d totally understand that.” 

“Why wouldn’t I want you around?” Bucky asks, and then adds dryly, “Other than the fact that I don’t need a babysitter.” 

“Well, for one,” Steve says with an awkward little smile, “I did send you to the ER earlier.” 

“That was an accident,” Bucky says decisively, physically waving that away with his hand. “Besides, you got me _out_ of the ER, too.” 

The cab pulls up at an old but well-maintained apartment building before Steve can respond, so he leaves it and pays the driver, ignoring both the driver’s curious look and Bucky’s protests. 

“Be faster next time,” Steve teases as they climb out. 

Bucky shakes his head a little, but stops quickly. Steve follows him inside, resting a hand on his arm when Bucky weaves a little at the top of the second flight of stars. “It’s over here,” Bucky says, and moves away from Steve’s touch, so Steve keeps his hands to himself while Bucky unlocks the apartment door. 

“Uh, most of this stuff is my roommate’s,” Bucky says as he leads Steve into a fairly large living space, “He’s a good guy, though, so he doesn’t mind if I use it. Lucky for you, because my room is a little… sparse.” Bucky kicks some shoes out of the way. “Sorry, those are mine. Actually, Sam’s kinda weird about shoes inside, so they pile up by the door.” 

“Hey,” Steve says, and risks nudging Bucky with his shoulder to get his attention. Bucky turns to him, and Steve catches his eye. “I know this is weird because we don’t know each other, but I think we’re beyond the usual rules. I’m not a guest, and you don’t have to give me a tour or entertain me, okay?” 

Bucky breathes out a short laugh. “Yeah, okay,” he says, rubbing his hand over the undamaged side of his face. “In that case, make yourself at home, because I need to pee.” 

Steve laughs as Bucky walks away toward a hallway on the other side of the room and then goes into the kitchen to put his bag down. He peeks into the fridge, but it only has sodas and old Thai, judging by the smell. He gets Bucky out a ginger ale and pours himself a glass of water from the tap. 

The freezer is better stocked, with a multitude of frozen dinners and bags of vegetables. Bucky drifts back in as Steve wraps some peas in a dish towel, only now he’s wearing pajamas. His shirt has short sleeves, but Steve can’t see any part of his arm below the hem. He tries not to stare and gives Bucky the can of ginger ale. “They gave you some medicine, right?” 

Bucky makes a face and digs two small orange containers out of his pocket. “The nurse said they’d make me sleepy.” 

“Good,” Steve says, “You’re supposed to rest.” He watches while Bucky pops the tops off the pill containers one handed, the movement practiced, and then takes the pills with a large swallow of ginger ale. 

“Ugh, gross,” he says, drinking down about half the can. 

Steve hands him the peas when he’s done. “Go lie down. Maybe we can watch a movie or something.” 

“Okay. What do you want to watch?” Bucky heads over to the couch, digging under the cushions for the remote while Steve takes off his shoes, glad to be out of them. He’d worn nicer clothes for court, slacks and a button down shirt, and they’re not as comfortable as his usual jeans and converse. 

“I’m not picky,” he says. His stomach growls softly, and he asks, “You mind if I order pizza? I didn’t have time for lunch, and I’m starving.” 

“Pepperoni!” Bucky orders from where he’s sorting through DVDs. 

Steve finds a worn pizza menu on the fridge and calls, and then joins Bucky by the television. It’s a small collection with a weird mixture of action and romantic comedies. 

“That’s Sam for you,” Bucky says, and they agree to a recent superhero movie that neither of them had seen yet.

With that decided, Bucky lays down on the couch, and Steve scoops up the bag of peas he’d left sitting on the coffee table and sets it over his bruises on his face, adjusting it carefully. 

“Thanks,” Bucky says, and Steve becomes aware of how close they are with him leaning over Bucky on the couch. 

He straightens quickly and says, “No problem. Do you mind if I…” He motions toward the hallway Bucky had used earlier when heading to the bathroom. 

“Sure, right down the hall,” Bucky says, “And if we’re really not standing on ceremony, I can loan you something more comfortable.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Steve asks skeptically, “In my size?” 

“You’re not _that_ short,” Bucky says, smirking, “But if you’re worried about the fit, I think Sam keeps some jammies here for his nephews.” 

“Screw you,” Steve says, which just makes Bucky laugh, but he does decide against his button down, stripping down to his undershirt. 

“So you’re a graphic designer?” Bucky asks when Steve comes back. 

“Yeah,” Steve says. He goes over to his bag and puts the folded shirt inside, pulling out his sketchbook. “I like it, and it pays the bills, but the art is what I’m really into.” He flips the book open to a sketch of Natasha.

The couch is big enough to leave Steve his own section to sit on even with Bucky already on it, not that Steve needs much space. He sits and shows the page to Bucky.

“Holy shit,” Bucky says, sitting up to take a closer look, “That’s really good.” 

“Thanks,” Steve says, smiling. 

“That’s the woman from the coffee shop earlier,” Bucky says. Steve nods, and Bucky gives him a pointed look. “I’m not assuming that this one is your girlfriend.” 

“No way,” Steve laughs, “She’s my best friend. And my landlord, actually, thought I usually don’t think of her like that.” 

“I’m starting to get very curious about where you live,” Bucky says. 

“It’s a normal Brooklyn apartment except for the people living in it. It’s owned by Natasha’s husband, Clint, and they don’t have, uh, the most typical approach to finding tenants.” 

“Do you have any pictures of him?” Bucky asks.

“I might,” Steve says, flipping through the pages, “Here.” Several little cartoon Clints decorate the page. In one, he’s dancing in his boxers with his dog in sunglasses, and another shows him crawling across the floor toward a cup of coffee. 

“That was… really not what I was expecting,” Bucky says with a laugh. “I figured on some slick real estate tycoon that was as gorgeous as Natasha.” 

“Not even close,” Steve says with a grin, “The way he tells the story, he bought the building by accident, and I’m pretty sure it was heading for bankruptcy before Natasha took over running it.” 

“You make her sound awesome, but I remember being a little terrified when I met her,” Bucky says. “She had this expression like all the bleeding and carrying on was very inconvenient for her.” Bucky shrugs. “She did take great care of me, though.” 

“Yeah, you just described Natasha,” Steve says. 

“How’d you meet her?” Bucky asks. It’s an innocent question, and Bucky’s expression is so open and happy that Steve knows he has no clue what kind of conversational pothole he just stepped in. 

Steve tries to keep his voice light. “We were at the same group home for awhile when we were kids.” 

“Oh,” Bucky says, pulling the peas away from his face. He wrinkles up his nose and then winces when it pulls on his injuries. “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” Steve replies, “It was a long time ago.” He casts about for a subject change. “So what is it you do?” 

Bucky’s face goes absolutely neutral. “Collect disability, at the moment,” 

Steve just looks at Bucky for a moment, not sure how a perfectly friendly and simple conversation got so emotionally fraught, when the buzzer on the door goes off. 

“Coming,” Bucky calls and starts to get up, but Steve is already on his feet, moving toward the door. 

“Too late!” Steve says, waving his wallet as he answer the door. 

Bucky pulls out plates while Steve pays for the pizza and gives him a warning look when Steve brings it into the kitchen. “I can pay for my own pizza, you know,” Bucky says. 

“You could,” Steve agrees, smirking, “if you were faster.” 

“Guess I’m just slow today,” Bucky says, deadpan, “I sure didn’t get out of your way in time.” 

He knows Bucky is probably joking, but it doesn’t sound that way at the moment, and Steve actually takes a step back, eyes jerking up to Bucky’s face. 

“Hey, kidding,” he says immediately, “Sorry, too soon.” He hands Steve a plate and adds, slyly, “I guess I’ll give you more _time_.” 

Steve gives him a look of complete exasperation, and Bucky laughs. “You’re such a jerk,” Steve says, but he can’t help smiling back at Bucky. He does take another piece of the pepperoni just to spite him, though. 

“You should’ve seen your face,” Bucky says gleefully before shoving half a piece into his mouth. 

“Lovely,” Steve says sarcastically. “Be useful and go start the movie.” 

Bucky takes his plate and does just that as Steve puts the peas back in the freezer and grabs himself a soda. 

The movie’s a little campy, but the characters are fun and the pizza is good, so Steve can’t complain. Bucky’s even resting like he should. 

Steve rarely sits around without something to do with his hands, though, so after the pizza is gone, he eventually gets restless and grabs his sketchbook off the coffee table, opening it to a blank page. Bucky glances at him, but doesn’t say anything until Steve’s been at it awhile. 

“What are you drawing?” he asks. 

Steve blushes a little, but displays the tiny cartoon of Bucky himself, sitting on the pavement and covering his hurt eye. Big cartoon tears are dripping down his face, and Natasha is patting him on the head. 

“Hey, I didn’t cry!” Bucky objects, but he’s smiling so he can’t be too upset. 

“It’s a cartoon. Artistic license,” Steve says, “You were very stoic, actually, I was impressed.” 

“Yeah, well, I’ve had worse,” Bucky says, and moves the remaining part of his left arm so that the empty sleeve waves. 

It’s bitter humor, like something Steve would have come up with when he’d spent so much time sick as a kid. Steve tries for a smile. “Any requests?” Steve asks, indicating the sketchpad. 

“Me,” Bucky says immediately and gives him a wide, say-cheese kind of smile. He drops it quick and runs his fingers over the edge of the bruise on his cheek. “Maybe not right now, though. Not ready for close ups at the moment.” 

Steve wants to tease him and make a joke out of it, but he still feels pretty guilty, and ‘your face’ jokes seem a little too on the nose, so Steve changes the subject. “I know your name is James, so what’s with Bucky?” he asks. 

“I have two sisters,” Bucky tells him.

Steve raises his eyebrows, both at the information and the non sequitur.

“Our nicknames are Bucky, Betty and Becky.”

“Wow,” Steve says, genuinely impressed. “Your parents must be interesting.” 

“Yeah, my mom thinks she’s hilarious,” Bucky says, “And then Bucky just stuck. It’s less confusing, anyway, because James is so common.” 

“Do you get to see them a lot?” Steve asks. 

“Nah,” Bucky says, looking a little uncomfortable. Steve assumes it’s because Bucky now knows he was a foster kid until he continues, “My dad died when I was in high school, and my mom didn’t approve of me going into the military. She moved my sisters down to live with my Gran in Virginia. Mostly I just ‘like’ all of Becky’s pictures on Instagram so she knows I’m still alive.” 

“Family’s tough,” Steve says with calm conviction, because working in family court has made that absolutely clear to him. 

Bucky gives a shaky laugh. “Truer words.”

Steve’s phone chirps in his pocket, and he digs it out. “Sorry,” he says. 

“No problem,” Bucky says and turns to watch the indiscriminate explosions rolling across the television as Steve reads the text. 

_sharon filled me in. still playing doctor at his place?_

_no one’s playing anything,_ Steve texts back, _but yeah, I’m still here_

There’s a long pause. _you’re an idiot_ Natasha finally sends, but Steve can practically hear the way she always says that, fondness laced through the words. _need an extraction?_

_nope, I’m fine. promise._

_details when you get home!_

Steve narrows his eyes at the text. Natasha and Sharon probably made some kind of stupid bet. Again. He flips the phone so he can’t see the screen, deciding to ignore it. 

“Sorry, Natasha was checking on us,” Steve says, “So you were in the military?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, “I’m surprised you couldn’t tell.” 

“I should have guessed,” Steve says and then realizes that Bucky is talking his arm, so he adds quickly, “You’re in really good shape.”

“That’s not--” Bucky starts, but then Steve’s words catch up with him and he interrupts himself to say, “Really?” drawing the word out and smirking. 

Steve can’t help his blush. “Shut up,” he says. “Like you don’t know.” Bucky looks incredibly smug, so Steve shoves leg away. Bucky retaliates by kicking out with his socked foot, and he catches Steve in the side just right, making him giggle. 

“Are you ticklish?” Bucky asks, sounds like Christmas has come early.

“No!” Steve cries, jumps up from the couch and moves away before Bucky decides to try it. He goes into the kitchen and gets the peas from the freezer, wrapping them back up and bringing them over to Bucky. “You’re supposed to be resting,” he reminds Bucky.

“That’s no fun,” Bucky says, but he takes the peas and settles back on the couch, covering his eye.

Steve’s phone rings, and he rolls his eyes, grabbing it and swiping across the screen without even looking. “Natasha, I told you, we’re fine--” 

“Steve?” A small, trembling voice says, and he looks at the screen, confused then concerned when he reads that it really is Phil’s name on the caller id. 

“Phil? Are you okay?” Steve asks. Phil doesn’t answer, but Steve can hear him on the line, crying softly. “Phil, I need you to answer, or I’m going to call the police. Are you safe right now?” 

Bucky sits up, his body tightening up, alert. 

“I’m fine,” Phil manages to say through his tears, “The police are here right now.” 

“Okay, good,” Steve says, forcing his voice to be calm, “Good, I’m glad you’re safe.” 

“Buck, sorry, this might take awhile,” Steve says softly to Bucky, holding the phone away from his mouth so that it won’t carry to Phil, “I’ll just step, uh,” he starts, looking around wildly and realizing there’s nowhere private in the main area of the apartment, the layout too open. 

“My room,” Bucky says, point to the hallway, “On the right.” 

“Thanks,” he says, grabbing Bucky’s hand for a second, cold from holding the frozen peas, and squeezing briefly. He’s halfway down the hall before he realizes that was a pretty strange thing to do, but he can’t undo it now. 

Steve pauses in the doorway. ‘Sparse’ doesn’t quite cover the blank walls and bare-bones furniture. Steve shuts the door behind him and sits on the corner of the unmade bed. He feels like he’s trespassing, but Phil takes priority right now. 

“Hey, Phil, breathe for me, pal,” Steve says, taking a deep breath himself to demonstrate. “Good, another.” Eventually he says, “Great. Now tell me what happened.”

*

After he hangs up with Phil, for the first time since he suggested it, Steve regrets that he offered to stay here with Bucky tonight. Not because of Bucky, but because the day is suddenly crashing down on him, and he’s _tired_. He allows himself to give in to the feeling for a minute, staring blankly, before he sighs and gets up to check on Bucky. 

Bucky is sitting on the couch staring at the television, which is currently showing commercials. He twists his head to look at Steve and says, softly, “Hey.”

The word makes Steve jump a bit. He tries to cover it by walking over to join Bucky on the couch. “Is the movie over?” he asks, unconsciously adopting Bucky’s quiet tone. 

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Everything okay?”

“For now,” Steve says, sagging back against the cushions. “Phil’s father wasn’t awarded custody this afternoon, and he showed up at Phil’s foster home. They had to call the police, and it really freaked him out. Sorry about all,” Steve waves his hand, unable to the find a word, and settles on, “that mess.” 

“Yeah, how dare you answer an emergency call from a foster kid who needed you,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes a bit. “C’mon, stop apologizing.” 

“Yeah, you’re right, sorry,” Steve says, and then huffs out a laugh when he realizes what he’d said. 

Bucky grins, but it doesn’t quite touch his eyes, still watching Steve closely. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Adrenaline crash, I think,” Steve says, holding out one hand to show the faint tremors running through it. “It’s been a long and stressful day, and it wasn’t supposed to be either. Volunteer days are usually much less exciting, I swear.” 

“I know just what you need,” Bucky says, standing up decisively and marching into the kitchen. 

“Hey, I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” Steve says as he gets up to see what Bucky’s doing. “Not the other way around.” 

“Can’t we take turns?” Bucky says, opening the freezer and starting to dig through the frozen dinners.

Steve can’t help his probably dopey smile, but Bucky wanting that is too perfect. “Yeah, we can do that.” 

Bucky catches sight of his smile and returns one of his own, pulling out a carton of ice cream with a flourish, “Ta-da!” He sets the carton down and gets two spoons out from a drawer. “I hope you like chocolate.”

“Sounds good,” Steve says, following Bucky back to the couch and sitting down close enough that they can both reach the carton.

“You said today was crazy,” Bucky says, pausing for a spoonful of ice cream, “So what would you usually be doing on a Friday night?”

“Not much,” Steve shrugs, “Hanging out with my friends if they’re around. Maybe working if I have a deadline, but more likely playing video games.”

“That is not the answer I was expecting,” Bucky says.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, not sure if that’s good or bad thing. 

“I dunno,” Bucky says, “I figured a night with Saint Rogers would involve rescuing puppies. Or maybe some kind of vigilante justice.”

“Haha,” Steve says flatly, and Bucky laughs. “Sorry to disappoint, but I think I’m a little short to be a superhero. I wouldn’t mind the puppies, though. What about you?”

“I don’t mind puppies, either,” Bucky says. “I’m pro-dog all around, actually.” 

“Good to know,” Steve says. “But I meant, what would you usually be doing right now?” 

“At 11 o'clock at night?” Bucky asks. “Thinking about going to sleep, probably.”

“Shut up, is it already that late?” Steve checks the time on his phone. “No wonder I’m tired. And you should be asleep, Sharon said that was the best way for you to heal.” 

“I was waiting to take another pain pill,” Bucky says, and then confesses through a mouthful of ice cream, “My head hurts some.”

Steve figures it must be bad if Bucky’s admitting to it, considering how stoic he’s been so far. He gets up, grabs the pills and brings them over. 

“Thanks,” Bucky says, getting a pill out and taking it with Steve’s unfinished soda. “What’s the plan for tonight? I don’t know what Sharon told you, but my nurse said I can sleep as long as you wake me up every couple of hours.” 

“Yeah, I’ll just sleep on the couch and set an alarm,” Steve says. 

“Under normal circumstances, I’d insist on taking the couch,” Bucky says, amused, “but I have a feeling you’re not going to go for that.”

Steve snorts. “Good call.” 

“Okay, then,” Bucky says. He offers the ice cream to Steve again, but when Steve shakes his head, he gets up and puts it away. “Let me look. I think we have some spare toothbrushes.” 

“That I’ll accept,” Steve says, grateful. 

“Good,” Bucky says. He grins as he heads down the hall, Steve following. “You ready for those jammies yet?” 

“Not on your life,” Steve says, “But if you have some sleep pants I could borrow, that would be nice.” 

“Sure,” Bucky answers, digging in the cabinet and coming up with the toothbrush, triumphant. He goes and finds Steve the requested pants, flannel and way too big, but Steve manages to pull the drawstring tight enough to keep them from falling. 

“Is one blanket enough or should I find another?” Bucky asks, voice muffled from in his room. 

“One’s fine,” Steve calls out. Bucky brings him the blanket and a pillow and goes to check the lock on the door, turning off lights as he goes.

Steve curls up on the couch, unfolding and spreading the blanket, and soon Bucky is standing in the hallway, backlit by the lights down the hall. “Comfortable?” Bucky asks. 

“Yeah, thanks, I’m good,” Steve says. He yawns, which makes Bucky yawn in quick succession. 

“Goodnight,” Bucky says through another yawn and disappears down the hall. 

Steve takes off his glasses and listens to the sound of Bucky moving around for a few minutes. Then the lights turn off, and the apartment goes dark except for the dim glow of one tiny light Bucky left on in the kitchen. 

He’s exhausted and warm and still, but he doesn’t sleep, just stares up at the ceiling. His eyes feel gritty and dry every time he blinks. 

Eventually, he checks his phone and makes sure the alarm is set to go off in two hours. The clock says it’s been twenty minutes, but it feels like longer. He puts the phone back down and tries to count his breathing, making each one smooth and deep. 

He lasts another fifteen minutes before checking his phone again. Now he can’t stop thinking about the list of symptoms Sharon told him to watch for, starting with the headache he knows Bucky has and ending with truly terrifying things like bleeding from the ears and seizures. 

Would he know if Bucky had a seizure? He’d probably hear it if he fell of the bed, but he has no idea how likely that is. 

_cant sleep,_ he texts Natasha, trying to distract himself. 

His phone goes dark waiting for a reply, but then she texts back, _should have made him come to your place._ It dings and he quickly sets it to vibrate. She’s probably right that he’d have slept. Insomnia is nothing new for him, but it’s worse in strange places. 

But, _that would have been weird,_ he points out. 

_like its not weird now?_ she asks, and he just knows she’s smirking at him right now.

He gives up and gets up, putting his glasses on and padding on bare feet into the kitchen as silently as possible and pouring a glass of water. 

He drinks half of it, and then does a slow circuit of the room, taking in details that he hadn’t noticed earlier, eyes adjusted enough to see without turning on another light. There’s a lot of pictures, usually of people in fatigues, several showing the same dark skinned man with a kind smile. None of the photos are of Bucky. 

Steve’s back in the kitchen and looking for his ereader in his bag when the hall light turns on. Steve squints at Bucky. 

“You okay?” Bucky asks, concern clear in his voice. 

“Yeah?” Steve says, confused. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, steadier. “I thought I heard your phone, and then you were moving around. I thought maybe you had to leave.” 

“No, everything’s fine,” Steve says. “Sorry, my phone’s on silent now.” 

“I thought you were tired,” Buck says, and it comes out plaintive, more like a question. 

“So tired,” Steve agrees, clearing his throat when that comes out kind of rough. “Can’t sleep right now, though. Insomnia.” He shrugs and tries to act like it’s nothing. 

“Okay,” Bucky says, drawing the word out a little. “Would being in bed help?” 

“I’m not kicking you out of your bed,” Steve says firmly. He thought they’d already covered that. 

“No,” Bucky says, running a hand through his hair, “I meant, join me?” He grimaces as soon as it’s out and adds quickly, “To sleep. It’s just… I can’t sleep if someone is moving around the apartment.” Bucky looks away as he says it, like it’s something to be ashamed of. 

Steve considers it. Natasha can occasionally get him to sleep by curling up next to him, her deliberate breathing and body heat letting him drift off. It doesn’t usually work with anyone else. It’s worth a try, though, and if nothing else, he won’t be worried about Bucky dying without him there to help. 

“Okay,” Steve says, “As long as you don’t mind.” 

Bucky shakes his head, and Steve grabs his pillow and phone and follows Bucky into his room. 

The bed is large, and they settle cautiously, plenty of room between them. 

Bucky asks, “Need anything?” 

“Nope,” Steve says, and it’s true. He’d thought the couch was comfortable, but the bed is so much better, the tension in his shoulders and back slowly fading. “You?”

“Fine,” Bucky says, “Unless you’re offering a goodnight kiss.” 

It’s clearly a joke, a way for Bucky to set them both at ease, but Steve sits up. He’s taken his glasses off again and has nothing to guide him but the golden streetlight coming through Bucky’s closed blinds, but Bucky is close. Steve can see his eyes, one swollen almost shut and one comically wide, as he leans in and presses a kiss to his forehead. 

“Goodnight,” Steve says, lying back down. 

After a second, Bucky laughs softly. “Tease,” he says. 

Steve smiles but doesn’t reply. This time when he closes his eyes, there’s nothing to stop his honey-slow drop into sleep.

*

Steve isn’t sure if it’s due to the injury, his sleep being constantly disrupted, or natural inclination, but Bucky is adorably grumpy the next morning. 

“Stop being cheerful,” Bucky complains into his cup of coffee. “It’s annoying.” 

“That mean you don’t want this?” Steve asks and slots one of the bagels he’d gone out and bought from the corner store into the toaster. 

Bucky falls silent and remains that way until the bagel is toasted, covered in cream cheese and Steve has pushed it over. “I know you got as little sleep as I did,” he grouches.

“Yeah, but it was more than I expected to get,” Steve says. 

Bucky grumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “damn morning people” and takes a huge bite of his bagel when a key jingles and scrapes into the lock right outside and the front door opens. Steve recognizes the man from the pictures around the apartment, most likely Bucky’s roommate Sam. He comes in and closes the door behind him, dropping a duffel bag and taking off his shoes. 

He glances at them both, and Steve gets the impression he’s surprised but too calm to show it. His eyes lock onto Bucky’s face, which has turned several spectacular shades of dark purple and red. 

“Let me guess,” Sam says, “I should see the other guy.” 

Bucky, still chewing, merely points in Steve’s direction. 

Sam looks at him, and Steve blushes. “It was an accident,” he defends himself. 

Sam raises his eyebrows, looking back and forth between Bucky and Steve as if he’s not sure he believes them, and then he starts laughing. He ends up leaning against the kitchen counter, Steve and Bucky watching him in amusement. 

“I’m starting to get a little offended,” Steve says as he slides the next bagel over to Sam and starts on another. 

“No, man, you don’t understand,” Sam says, wheezing a little but getting the words out, “Didn’t Bucky here tell you? He’s ex-Special Forces.” Steve looks over at Bucky, who’s looking a little sheepish. “I have seen him drop assholes twice as big as he is in the ring just to take them down a notch. It looks like you sucker punched him!”

“Well,” Steve says, “What can I say? I really know how to make an impact.”

Sam loses it again, almost choking on his bagel. 

Bucky groans, but he’s smiling, all lit up by the morning sun. 

Steve smiles back, getting thoroughly distracted until Sam clears his throat. He jumps and turns back to the toaster, getting his bagel out. 

“Sorry, man, I don’t think I introduced myself yet,” Sam says, “I’m Bucky’s roommate, Sam.” 

“Yeah, I figured,” Steve says, “I’m Steve.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Sam says, “I hope I didn’t mess up any plans by coming home early like this.”

“Trust me, we didn’t plan any of this,” Bucky says, grinning when Steve looks over. 

“I should leave soon, anyway,” Steve says, although he doesn’t really want to. He doesn’t want to go and maybe never see Bucky again, forgotten or maybe written off as an amusing anecdote, that time the tiny dude gave me a concussion. Steve starts to eat his bagel and refuses to think about that. “Do you need the information sheets the nurses gave me?” 

Sam looks amused and shakes his head no. “I’m a trained paramedic,” he says.

“Oh, cool,” Steve says, “I don’t have to worry then.” 

“Especially since I’m fine,” Bucky says. 

“Yeah, you look fine,” Sam says, rolling his eyes. He eats the last of the bagel and stands up. “Thanks for breakfast, Steve. It was nice to meet you.” He grabs his duffel and heads to his room with a wave. 

The silence he leaves in his wake is a little awkward for the first time that morning. “I’d better get going,” Steve says, wrapping up the last bagel and putting it and the cream cheese away in the fridge.

“You don’t have to run off because of Sam,” Bucky says.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to overstay my welcome,” Steve says, and when Bucky looks like he wants to argue, he adds, “Plus, I have some stuff to do today.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky says, “Hold on a second, though.” 

He goes down the hall. Steve puts on his shoes, finishing the laces just as Bucky comes back with his phone. 

He hands it Steve with a contact open. “Can I get your number?” he asks.

“Sure,” Steve says, typing it in, “I already gave it to you, though. It’s on my card.” 

“Just in case,” Bucky says. 

“Oh, very funny,” Steve says sarcastically, noticing that the name says ‘Saint Rogers’. He fixes it and hands the phone back. 

“Thanks,” Bucky says, and then, more seriously, “Thanks.” 

“Of course,” Steve says. He casts about for a smooth exit line, but he can’t think of anything, and finally says, “I’ll see you around.” It comes out more like a question, and he tries to cover by saying, “If you want to risk it,” laughing a little.

“Yeah, worth it,” Bucky says with a smile. 

Steve blushes and escapes with a quick ‘goodbye’ before he can be anymore awkward. 

He’s halfway down the street and heading for the nearest subway when Bucky texts, _I think I’m going to make your ringtone wrecking ball._

Steve quickly saves Bucky’s number.

_maybe crash into me,_ Bucky adds.

Steve doesn’t text back while he’s walking, but by the time he gets to the station, his cheeks hurt from smiling so wide.


End file.
